


The Birth of Mycroft Holmes

by dog_mu, mphelmsman



Series: Holmes in Albion [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Gen, Kid Mycroft, Loss of Parent(s), Post-Sacrifice, Sacred King, mythpunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 11:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11356527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dog_mu/pseuds/dog_mu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mphelmsman/pseuds/mphelmsman
Summary: In the life of every person there is a moment where they choose which way they will face in their life's journey. Violet Holmes is there when her son makes that choice for good or ill.





	The Birth of Mycroft Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful Cerani
> 
> This is the beginning of a series exploring a slightly different world for Holmes and Watson to exist in. I hope to put out new fic in the series semi-regularly but I make no promises when.

The Birth of Mycroft Holmes

The Lady Violet Holmes sat in her favourite study, a place of deeply cushioned furniture and rich tones of green and brown with hint of intense blue here and there. On the walls were several paintings, some obviously portraits of her ancestors and others more fantastical. Strangers to the house might even think that the paintings and statues of dragons, fairy folk and such were but the pretensions of a slightly noble family who wished to imply a longer lineage than it truly possessed. Those who had dealings with the Holmes family or were in their social circle had the knowledge to the contrary that each was a cherished relic. It was not known to many but the family had been a subtle power in the Island called Albion for much longer than most. But that thought did not even cross Violet’s mind more than passingly as she held her ten-year-old son at her side and told the oldest story known in their family history.

“So the Great King Magnos Alexandros and his two most beloved companions, Hephaestion and Bagoas, were freed from the bonds chaining them to his great army. Into the vastness of the world he disappeared, leaving the generals to guide his armies back to their homes so that he could wander as he willed and see the farthest shore.” She smiled gently at the so solemn little boy that sat next to her while she caressed the roundness of her abdomen within which new life was growing. She turned slightly towards the warmth of the fire on the hearth. Mabon, the Autumnal equinox had come and gone and her pregnancy was advanced enough to make her occasionally uncomfortable. “He wandered long and wandered far, leaving the trust of preserving one realm, Egypt of ancient memory, to his half-brother Ptolemy.”

“Until he came here.” Her little Alexander said, his face one of grim determination rather than delight, as he concentrated on memorising the facts of the story that she told him. Violet mourned in her heart. Her son hadn’t smiled in a long time, not much since his father had gone out to lay his life down for the Land. Once he realised that Violet’s pregnancy meant that she had been the Priestess who had sanctified his father as the Sacred King, and sealed his death fate, he had not smiled at her again. Until this year when the young Princess Victoria had nearly perished Alexander had been such a happy child and Violet still held a flame of hope in her heart that he could find his happiness again, even if it were never again directed towards her.

“Yes, he came to the Isle of the Mighty where he found his true divine father, Lud of the many crafts, and realised why his seeking for knowledge drove him on when all men around him became satisfied with what knowledge they had. Who else did he meet here, my Alex?” Violet kept her tone gentle and loving. Let her son doubt her but she would never love him one iota less and would never show that the distance between them gave her a moment of pain.

“Mummy, I told you I don’t like being Alex, everyone is named Alex. I like my other name Mycroft better.” He said it with particular emphasis.

“Yes, Mycroft, I will try harder. I promise.” Violet meant it this time. Her son had settled on his first name for more than a month now, he was truly serious and she would not make this mistake again. “So, who else did Magnos Alexandros meet when he came to the Isle of the Mighty?”

“He met the Grey Lady, Mummy.” Mycroft thought, frowning in concentration, “Don’t we know who she was, Mummy?” One of the air spirits of the house stopped in its rounds of keeping the air fresh even when the smoke of the old fireplace escaped the hearth, and settled on the boy’s shoulder but he took no notice. This time last year he would have at least held out a finger for the small sylph to perch on. “Why don’t the Families keep a memory of her? Wasn’t she one of us?”

“We simply don’t know Mycroft, but I don’t think so. The Folk of the Hill will only say that she was not of this earth and leave it to us to interpret as we will.  Some think it meant she was a very skilled High Priestess of the Maiden Huntress, some that she was one of the Fair Folk disguised or that she at least came from Under the Hill. Although some who still live under the Hill knew her and Magnos Alexandros they will not say anything else. She always went robed and veiled in grey and that is how she is always pictured.“ Violet gestured to the small statue that stood in the corner of the cosy study of a vaguely female figure swathed in robes and veils. It was carved of the finest marble, but keeping with old tradition it was painted to show that the robes and veils that billowed around the figure were all the greys of a forming thunderstorm.

“She went back with him.” The child said, stroking his finger along one fold of the robed figure. Violet raised her eyebrow, usually her story concentrated on what happened on the isle Albion, which was the start of their family. Perhaps she should not be surprised, the very dedication that the Holmes family had held onto throughout the centuries had called on the boy’s father to offer himself up to the land when the young Princess had almost died. No medical practices of the physical arts or the magical were able to help her. Only the willing sacrifice of a Sacred King could finally bind the girl’s line to the land and allow it to heal her as it had once saved the Great Queen Elizabeth. Since then, theirs had been a sadder house, proud of the service they offered to the realm, but Violet felt in her heart that her sacrifices had only just begun.

“Yes, she did. There was so much he needed to accomplish. His great empire had shattered after his disappearance with only Ptolemy Soter staying true to his charge. But on our Isle, Magnos Alexandros had learned much from his father and more from the People under the Hill. The vast hunger of his curious nature had at last been satisfied and he was finally ready to fully take on the yoke of ruling from the centre rather than wandering in search of more.” Violet shifted as the child within her rolled and kicked. She rubbed over the tiny protrusion of a heel or elbow but remained focused on the child in front of her eyes. She was losing confidence that her eldest child could ever find healing with her as he turned his eyes and mind to beyond the shores of Albion.

“His capital was the crown of the world, Alexandria-By-The-Sea.” Mycroft said solemnly, “And there is the Library that still teaches the world.” The boy with hair as brown and soft as an otter’s pelt turned his green-gold eyes back to her with an intensity Violet had never seen in them before. “I wish to visit the Library in Salisbury, Mummy. The books in our home are not enough anymore.” His voice lowered, “It is time for me to enroll as a scholar.” He said with an unswerving note of decision.

Violet blinked hard to hold back tears but forced herself to give her child a gentle smile. So, he had finally rejected the gentle pastoral ways of the Holmes estate and the ancient magics held in trust here. Mycroft would go his own way. “We will start arrangements in the Spring then, after your brother or sister is born.”

“I wish to go now!” the boy finally allowed a bit of frustrated anger show. Violet knew it was only the smallest amount of anger contained within that small form; her Companion and midwife was a skilled empath and had warned her of that anger, had warned her that it could destroy or strengthen her son depending solely on her reactions. She had been counselled to allow him to explore his wish of freedom. Letting him try his wings in the wider world might be the only way that they could retain the love that still existed between them.

“I will send a message to the Library requesting a tutor to come here until then.” She counter offered, “He will be able to start preparing you for the Testing process that the Library requires for admittance. That will keep you occupied until it is time.” She reached a hand out to him, “I wish for you to meet your brother or sister, Mycroft, before you are too caught up in your studies.” She left it unsaid that every birth is carried out in the shadow of death. She was not young, although her health was good, and she knew that Mycroft might be the only family left to the coming child. That the child within her would live was undoubted, but that she would live to raise it was more uncertain.

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, judging from her face and form if she spoke true. Indeed, it was impossible to lie to the boy, his perceptions were already so acute. “But I may go.” He stated solemnly.

Violet Holmes buried the aching in her breast and lifted her head, “You will make me very proud, my son. Your mind has always had wings; the Library will open the skies for you to soar in.”

The boy’s eyes finally softened for the first time in many weeks. He walked over to her and laid a hand on her pregnant belly, smiling suddenly as he felt the sudden movement under his palm. “I will stay to meet my sibling.”

Violet bent awkwardly to embrace her son, joy and sorrow mingling in her heart until she could not tell one from the other. Or perhaps in that moment they were one and the same.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am looking for more writing prompts for Mycroft, Sherlock, John, etc as children in this world. If you have an idea please drop it into the comments or send me an ask on Tumblr @ rebuilding221b


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